Professionals
by Monika26486
Summary: RAINBOW. The most elite counter-terror force on earth. You'd expect it to be pretty military, right? Nope. Nein. Nyet. Ever since John Clarke and Ding Chavez left, the new Six has let things get a little 'out of hand' as the old men might put it. Let's see what the new team is like behind the line of duty, shall we? [AU] [OC] [Hopefully not outrageously so] [Siege is shit, lol]


You'd expect that the most elite counter-terror force in the world to carry on their stiff upper lip and serious caution through in every aspect of their lives. While John Clarke and Ding Chavez were the Sixes of RAINBOW, that may have been true, as they had demanded the same discipline and professionalism seen during operations in everyday life. In training, in the post-op pub visits, even in the very way they sat and shat on the toilet, they demanded it be present. However, when a CIA Intelligence officer rather than an operative with field experience took over as six, it was less pressing for her. Being more academically focused, a former school teacher before she found her passion in the Agency, she honestly couldn't care less what her subordinates were doing, as long as it wasn't illegal, dangerous, and didn't impair their ability to be combat-ready and as professional as can be. And subsequently, many of the team turned out to be very reckless.

It was two in the morning on a Thursday when Eliza Cohen made it home.

A simple mission of taking the rental car to pick up the Pizza had turned into something much more monstrous. She had ended in a bar chatting up a local man with her limited German, while getting blasted, the task at hand absolutely lost to the zone.

She had finally realised the time and made it home via taxi, not because she was drunk, but because she had forgotten that there was a car. And she had unknowingly left the keys upon the table she had sat at in the bar.

So when she stumbled up the concrete steps of Monika's Munich flat to the door, she threw up, collapsed in her own sick, and leaned against the wall wailing loudly, clawing the front door, mewing like a lost kitten left outside on a cold winter's night. She was, indeed very, very drunk.

Luckily for her, her blonde German friend was still up, reading. The T.V was on in the background, so she hadn't heard her friend at first, but it was during a dramatic surgery scene laden with silence that the odd sound first reached her ears. And there wa only one person she knew who could make that sound. And said person was missing, not returning calls, and quite arrogant to boot.

Dog-earing the page of Tom Clancy's oddly-specific propaganda, she sighed heavily and stood up. That book literally described every Rainbow action during the first few years of its existence in detail, albeit with some minor fictionalisation like the names and the alleged broadcasting of some operations to national T.V, when they had been very hushed up. When she managed to stretch, plod over to, and open the door, Eliza fell inside, her shirt absolutely sodden with some vomit, rain and tears. She may be stoic and stubborn to hide her troubled past, but just a little alcohol and she melted into an porridge-like mush of intense emotions and borderline homosexual actions.

It was pretty much standard protocol within Rainbow by now to never watch any film remotely sappy with Eliza in the room, and never bother with the blubbering, intoxicated mess unless you were willing to have your shirt torn off and your left nipple inspected in great detail (Monika knew three weeks after meeting the woman that her breasts were slightly assymetrical, the left a little more perky than the other, not that she cared much, other than for the woman's mental health), and not to mention a probable bed buddy due to heightened emotion.

The German hoisted her friend from the doorway, and slowly stomped into the bathroom, where she plopped the Israeli into the bathtub and began to strip the drunken woman. Emmanuel wandered in, saw the scene, and groaned. Her short brown hair was sticking up in all manner of directions and there were deep, dark bags under her eyes. A bandage was wrapped around her left hand and her eyeglasses hung precariously off her nose. "Need me to do anything?" she mumbled sleepily.

Monika shook her head, "Nein, I'll deal with it. You lay off your tinkering, you really need to sleep, Sch tz. It shows." she batted her eyelashes at the French woman. "Seriously, go to bed. Being tired can wait until our holiday is over." "Yes, Maman..." Emmanuel sarcastically shot back, walking from the bathroom to finally rest. Monika sighed. "These two..." she mumbled as she stripped her friend's rainsoaked clothing off for a bath. Sometimes being the mother of the group was a hellsend.

The next morning saw Eliza up bright and early, throwing up into the toilet bowl as Monika held her loose, red hair back. After multiple dry-heaves, false starts, and a few litres of water exiting her mouth, the little substance left in her stomach finally presented itself and splashed against the whiteness of the ceramic facility. "Ugh... I'm never drinking again..." she gasped. Monika stood up. "You always say that, yet you manage to get absolutely hammered about a week later. Gott, you need a nice man to regulate your intake," she groaned, and grabbed her close friend under the armpits and hauled her onto her feet. Eliza "Why? So you can watch as I have kids before I'm forty, drop out of the team and have a boring life? Not a fucking chance, honey. As Elz would put it, chaos is my home."

The German scoffed. "So you haven't been eyeing up my twenty-something-year-old cousin have you? All that Bundeswehr sexiness radiating off of him? And Elzie was referring to her Gizzmots or however you say it, not life in general - or her style, either - she's slow and careful."

"Monika, you know he has a girlfriend, and so do I. Besides, I'm probably ten years his senior, so no chance with that!" She stated, albiet painfully.

"Oh, ja? You've been staring fucking daggers at Fabi everytime she's here with him. You need to move on, girl, he's twenty-five, and you're thirty-eight - so it's twelve and a bit years - and I'm pretty damned sure that he's gonna ask her to marry him sometime soon. And I'm not your girlfriend."

"Oh, please! She's average at best, long face, a little fat-" "-wavy, mousy blonde hair, bright, steely blue eyes, excitable as a hurricane, no makeup I've ever noticed, a fucking smile that almost turns Eman gay... She's in the top five percent of all Europe without resorting to caked foundation and eyeshadow - and her tits aren't that large, neither is her ass, but she sure as hell is traditionally perfect - which Jo is, too. No plastic, either. And what's with 'fat'? She broke three sprint records at her high school, and still runs competitively at state competitions," Monika went on, "She's top-tier and you won't admit it."

"She'll get fat when she's older."

"And you're almost fourty, you grumpy old woman."

"I can run four kilometers in ten minutes! I can scale a fucking skyscraper!"

"Yeah, and so can she. She's done it. Without that extra inch or so of belly fat"

"Skyscraper?"

"They did it at night and it was totally illegal, but neither are in jail, are they?"

"I dunno, they could be for all I know."

"Well they're not, Eliza, an you're just jealous as hell of Fabi."

"Piss off. Now, can we get some McDonalds? I'm goddamn hungry!"

"Oh, mein fucking Gott..."

RAMBLE AHEAD.

A/N: This has been sitting on my desktop for ages. I already have almost another two-to-three-thousand words written as I type this. I remember reading "Behind the Mask" a while ago and loving the fact that it delves a bit into the backgrounds of each character. I wanted to do that too, while bringing a sense of realism to the entire thing and keeping it a bit original. I would play Terrorist Hunt for hours on end, just getting accustomed to my favourite characters and who they were. I even drafted a fic based on a situation at the House map, and then scrapped it cause it was too shippy right from the get-go, although I wasn't intending to even rig the sails on a ship. It was to descriptive, I sat with my headphones on listening to the ambient noise of that map while writing, trying to make the story feel real. And then I scrapped it, and started over. This time it was an impromptu mission in Australia, and I'm not telling you because I'm going to use that for another chapter soon. But this was the result f one night's idea, and three hours writing, then multiple months of break, a little more writing, and then what I did tonight in an hour or so. I almost have Chapter 2 done as of tonight (or this morning, ugh. I have school starting again soon.) To be perfectly honest, Siege isn't for me. Anymore, that is. Take the fact that I'm a fan of PR:BF2, S.T.A.L.K.E.R and the original Rainbow Six game as why. M. I might be a bit masochist when it comes to games. I like to be challenged in a believable setting. Why are we killing each other? Why have we captured an innocent civilian when our job is to do the opposite? It's just too annoying and competitive for me. I never liked skill-based games, anyway, more team-based. But the first few weeks of me having my PS4 were absolutely golden. As soon as I got the thing, I wasted a day addressing internet issues, the next I gameshared with my friend, downloaded Rainbow while I was at school the next day, and being a Friday, I sat in bed, with homemade pizza and a Monster In hand, in awe at this amazing game we were playing. Me and three of my friends would just grind all night in casual, having fun, talking shit to each other, and so on. The atmosphere became a drug. Those were some of the most memorable days of the last year and a half. The way I played it was the cupcake, but the atmosphere created, the menu music, the bios for the characters, that was the cherry on top. Bis Sp ter! - Runner 


End file.
